Customer Service
At the age of eighteen
I had my first real job.
I no longer watched groups of children
From the sidelines
As they had fun in the summer heat
And cool waters of a public pool.
I now worked for a convenience store,
Located in the center of my hometown,
Selling deli meats, groceries, and basic home needs
Like the toilet paper and tampons
Flying off our shelves.
My mom said it would be great
Since I can walk to work and home
Within five minutes.
I was excited to work there, too,
In a building with air conditioning in the heat
And heating in the cold
And fluorescent lights instead of the blinding sun.
Fast forward a few months.
I am no longer bright eyed and bushy tailed
When I think about work.
I no longer hop along
And do the jobs written out for the day.
I am now resigned to my job
Hustling to make the day go by faster.
I still smile at the customers,
Give them pleasant answers, hellos, and goodbyes.
I live and breathe customer service,
But there must be a line.
For every good, great, or amazing customer,
There are ten mean, rude, or horrible ones.
I am told by a regular
Too constantly let him see
“That pretty smile of mine”.
What confused me was
The simple fact that I was already smiling.
I tell him this once and he replies to me
“not that smile, the other one”
And gives me a wink.
His comment grates on my nerves,
And makes me feel uncomfortable
When I smile at strangers.
What type of smile do they see?
There are those customers
Who yell comments towards you
As you clean the store.
They tell me I missed a spot,
Or give me their address
Then tell me to come by after work
As if I do not have a life outside of work.
Others make passing comments
That I am where belong.
Working in a store where all I do
Is clean and make sandwiches.
Even worse are the customers who
Scream, yell, curse with their voice,
Shake their fist, slam their hand on the counter,
Or try to intimidate you by making you
Feel like a tiny rabbit looking into
The eyes of an alpha wolf.
These are the customers who make me angry, sad, and resigned.
The believe that I must bend to their wishes,
Cower in fear,
And beg for their patronage.
I must break the rules I am given by my manager,
And their manager
And their manager
To accommodate their wishes.
My thoughts are screaming at them.
Shouting that I do not have the power
They believe I have over such things
As price hikes or a mistaken order from yesterday
When I have no clue what happened
For I was off that day.
But I am forever reminded:
The customer is always right.
The line I search for between
customer service and
Servicing the wishes of a customer
Does not exist.
So instead of talking, explaining,
Reasoning with the customer
I bite my tongue,
Push back desperate and angry tears,
Smile pretty,
And put on an Oscar winning performance.